


Pas de Deux

by TheRedWulf



Series: Tysan One Shots [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ballet, Banter, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Help, Loss of Virginity, Modern, Modern Era, Mutual Pining, Pregnancy, Smut, TySan, Unplanned Pregnancy, Unrequited Love, dance, i have no idea what i am doing, romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 01:01:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20537588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedWulf/pseuds/TheRedWulf
Summary: AU - Modern - In which a ballet legend finds passionate love with his prima ballerina...Picset is viewableHERE





	Pas de Deux

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look...Tysan. Sorry. Not sorry.
> 
> Here is a ballet AU because, well, why not?
> 
> I know, I know, I should be working on my open Stansa, ssssshh!  
For the 100th time I don't consider myself a writer. This is unbeta'd so I apologize for any errors.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

“No!” the Great Lion’s voice echoed in the theatre, everyone on stage coming to a halt as his long, lean form unfolded from the chair. He stepped onto the stage, moving to where she stood, towering over her. “You’re dancing like a robot, an absolute disgrace to the choreography. I expect better from you.”

“Please---”

“If you continue in this fashion, I will replace you with your understudy, is that understood?”

“Which understudy is that, sir? You made her quit last week” she clenched her jaw and defiantly met his eyes. She could feel the fury rolling from his body, the bright green of his eyes flashing as he glared. 

“Out” he barked without taking his eyes from her and the stage burst into life, everyone rushing away until it was just them in the empty theatre. 

Neither of them moved, the sound of their breathing the only sound in the building as they watched each other. He was waiting for her to flinch, but she would not let him run roughshod over her like he did the others. 

The Great Lion, Tywin Lannister, was a god in the world of Ballet. Dancing at his company, the Royal Ballet, was the goal for any who had ever put on pointe shoes. It had certainly been hers for most of her life. 

From the age of four she knew that she wanted to dance, begged her mother to let her join ballet and when her mother relented, Sansa excelled. Her world revolved around ballet and everything she did was to bolster her future career. Diet, exercise, everything she did was carefully examined to make sure it would benefit her future career. 

By 14, she was dancing for the Far North Company, dancing alongside those twice her age and doing her homeschool lessons at night. After she took the exam to graduate high school early, she turned her eyes to the south. 

Auditioning for the Royal Ballet Company was nerve-wracking, she hadn’t slept for days before hand, instead practicing her routine until her feet bled and she could barely stand. But when she walked onto the stage, looking out at the faces staring back at her, she felt like a princess. 

Tywin Lannister, director of the Royal Ballet and accomplished danseur in his own right sat proudly in the center seat of the theatre. A poster of him had adorned her bedroom growing up, his tall, lean form dancing in ‘Swan Lake’ with his wife, Joanna. Oh, how she wanted nothing more to dance with him, to be his Odette. 

Olenna Tyrell, choreographer and legendary Italian prima ballerina sat to his left. And Cersei Lannister, the daughter of prima Joanna Lannister and the Great Lion, sat to his right. She was the current prima of the Royal Ballet and was helping to look for a new protege. 

Sansa performed her audition routine, smiling when she finished because her hard work had paid off and it was perfect. She stood, hands folded in front of her as the board asked her questions about her career thus far and she answered them as best she could. 

_ She nearly jumped out of her skin when the Great Lion abruptly stood, moving to the stage to examine her closely._

_ “You’re tall, nearly too tall” he noted. _

_ “They said the same about you, Director Lannister” she smiled, looking up at him. _

_ “Indeed they did” he nodded, a smile hiding behind his eyes. _

_ “On pointe” he told her and she obeyed, rising to the tips of her pink shoes. “Even taller this way” he noted with a chuckle. “Who would I partner you with? Which cavalier would suit you?”_

_ “You, Director Lannister” she smiled. _

_ He laughed then, a rich, throaty sound that softened his face, “I fear my dancing days are over, Miss. Stark” he replied, moving closer. “Arabesque” he instructed, moving behind her as she took the position, arms outstretched as she lifted her leg. _

_ The breath nearly left her body as his hands moved to her ribs and inner thigh, lifting her overhead with a smooth movement. The Great Lion was lifting her! The man who had helped to inspire her passion for dance! When he dropped her in a fish dive, his arm banding around her and holding her to his chest, she nearly gasped. She held her position and kept her leg extended until he was setting her on her feet once more._

_ As he moved back in front of her, then to her side, his leonin grace ensuring he did not make a sound, he gave a nod._

_ “Thank you, Miss. Stark” Olenna’s voice came._

_ “Thank you for the opportunity” she curtsied to the ladies and then turned to Tywin. “Thank you, Director Lannister” she curtsied once more. _

_ “She’ll do” Tywin said, loud enough to be heard but still looking at her. _

“Director Lannister---”

“You will listen to me” he interrupted her. “You are the prima ballerina in the Royal Ballet Company, you are not a stripper in a den of filth. Do you understand that?” 

“Yes, Director--”

“I do not think you do,” he argued. “You are dancing as if each move is a surprise you do not know how to handle.”

“I am doing my best---”

“That was not your best” he scoffed. “I have seen your best, you are far from it.”

She swallowed thickly, holding herself together, “I will do better.”

“You’re damned right you will” he agreed. “Starting position.” When she hesitated he fixed her with a glare. “Now.” 

Tywin watched her as she moved, performing her choreography on the stage around him. While it was better than before, smoother and elegant, there was still something wrong with her. 

He liked to think that after five years of watching her dance, that he knew her body better than she did. He knew the way each of her limbs moved, the way her head pivoted when she turned, the unique angle in which she held her pinky as she danced. Because of this, he could tell when something was wrong. And there _was_ something wrong. 

He remembered clearly the first time he saw her dance. They had been in the theatre all day watching a seemingly endless stream of dancers and then there she was. Clad in a vibrant red instead of the regular demure pink, she was a bullseye on the stage, drawing every eye. 

It was sheer impulse that had him on stage with her, lifting her featherlight form into the air, the first woman he had lifted in many, many years. He had lifted none aside from her since then.

When Cersei decided that she wanted to leave the spotlight and step away from the family legacy she had been ‘forced’ to live, Tywin was disappointed. How could he not be? But he understood her desire for a life of her own and promised her once a protege was found, Cersei could leave. He had not expected to find one so quickly. Nor one so perfect.

Sansa had been one of the youngest to audition that day, and now at 28 she was the youngest prima in the company’s existence. She was beautiful, humble and gifted in ways that others could only dream of. He knew for a fact that Baelish’s Imperial Ballet continually tried to poach her away, but fortunately Sansa was loyal to the Royal Ballet.

There were some in the world of ballet and theatre that compared Sansa to Joanna, likening them both to goddesses of dance. He supposed it was partially true, they were both elegant and graceful; but where Joanna had danced with serenity and patience, Sansa danced with a fire in her heart, with a passion that could not be stifled. It was clear from her audition that she held great love for what she did, that each step fueled that great love. 

The two women were very different, this was obvious to those who knew them both, and glaring to himself. Tywin and Joanna had been married less than six years when the car accident claimed her life. She had been pregnant, driving home from the doctor’s office when the large truck lost control. Everything in his life had changed in an instant and he would always feel her loss, and the loss of their son, acutely. 

He was left to raise Jaime and Cersei on his own, doing all he could to keep the company moving and his remaining family safe. He took on Olenna Tyrell when she retired in Italy and when Cersei was old enough she left school to be home-schooled, dancing with the company full time. 

Jaime was always a rebel, and had no love for ballet beyond supporting his family. He grew up with a love for cars and now worked designing them. He came to every show on opening or closing night, but rarely came by for rehearsals or to visit, and now that Cersei was retired, Tywin found he spent more time with Sansa than he did anyone else.

He would be a liar if he said he was not attracted to her. But she was 25 years his junior and in his employ, so he had never given any hint or made any move toward acting on his feelings. And what deep feelings they were. 

But impassive he had been and impassive he would remain. 

When she finished her routine, he gave a nod, “Better.” She did not reply, only gave a small bob of a curtsey, turning to leave. “You’re not done” he told her, drawing her up short. “I said ‘better’, I did not say ‘perfect’. And you must be perfect.” 

She crossed, bent down near her bag and grabbed her water bottle, taking a long drink before putting it away, “Alright. What next?”

He smiled, glad to see she still rose to meet a challenge. 

Sansa could barely move. She had been so tired when she left the theatre that she could barely drag herself up the stairs to her apartment. Tywin had kept her for hours after the others left, barking instructions and orders as she danced the solos over and over. She would complain, but ballet was her passion and spending the day with him was something she would never begrudge. 

The reality of Tywin was not the fantasy of him she had in her head growing up. Yes, he was still handsome and in shape, surprisingly so for a man of 53. But he was a hard taskmaster, pushing each of the dancers to the edge, forming them into the best in the world. 

He was imposing, intimidating and abrupt, but his vision was clear and he did not waver in his pursuit of it. 

It was that dedication that she admired most. And it was that admiration that had blossomed into something much deeper. A love that consumed her but would never be spoken of. He was her director, a widower who had deeply loved his wife, and so she would remain quiet. She danced for him each day, giving everything that she had for _him_. She had even passed on a considerable sum of money to stay with him. 

Today, however, her body ached; ankles and knees protesting with every move and she found herself taking pain medication before she even left the apartment. An off day, she supposed. Tomorrow would be better. 

Bypassing the kitchen, she set her ballet bag on the entry floor and moved to the bathroom, running a hot bath with her rose scented bubbles to relax. Stripping away her tights and leotard she unpinned her hair and sank into the tub.

She sighed as the warm water surrounded her, sinking into sore muscles and cramped feet. The oversized tub was one of the reasons that she had chosen this apartment. While it was close to the theatre, the tub was large enough for her to submerge in and she adored it. Closing her eyes she sank under the water, enjoying the silence the water brought. 

She had just showered off and dressed in her knee length silk nightgown when a knock came at the door. Pulling on her robe she looked through the peep-hole, surprised to find Tywin on the other side. Unlocking it, she opened the door quickly.

“You forgot this” he raised the purse in his hand. 

“Oh Gods” she laughed. “I must have been so tired I just zoned out” she stepped aside, allowing him inside. “Thank you for returning it.”

“I thought you might need it tonight, otherwise I would have kept it for tomorrow,” he said as she closed and locked the door. 

“Thank you” she took the purse and set it on the table near the door. Her ballet bag was on the floor beneath it, ready for another day tomorrow. 

“You’re welcome” he glanced around her apartment. He would approve, she found herself thinking, of the minimalist design with a hint of old fashioned flair. 

“Have you eaten?” she asked before she could stop herself. “I was just about to cook.”

“I have not, thank you” he replied. 

She smiled, “Make yourself comfortable, I am just going to grab a sweater” she said, ducking into her bedroom. She hung her robe on the hook on the back of the door and grabbed the hugely oversized sweater that Arya had gotten her for Christmas last year. It was a soft, rose pink and was her go-to loungewear. She pulled it on over her nightgown, the long sweater nearly covering its hem, and returned to the living area. 

Tywin had shed his suit jacket, laying it over the couch, leaving him in his slacks and black turtleneck as he looked at the family photos on the bookcase. He had met her family, of course, they came into town for opening night of each of the Royal Ballet’s shows. She had introduced them to her director after her first show as they beamed with pride. 

“How old were you here?” he pointed to a photo of her in a pink tutu and t-shirt, standing on a pile of rocks near Wintertown.

“Six, I think” she moved beside him, looking at the photo. “Robb built that ‘castle’ and I was determined to dance on top of it,” she smiled. 

“Brave little thing” he chuckled, a sound she rather liked to hear in her apartment. 

“To the point of overconfidence” she replied. “I fell shortly after the photo was taken. Bloodied my knee and I cried because I had torn my tutu.”

“A severe crime” he gave an exaggerated frown. 

“Indeed” she said, moving away and into the kitchen. “I hope that salmon is alright, my director has me on a terribly strict diet.”

“Sounds like a terrible boss” he crossed to the kitchen to join her. 

“The worst” she replied, gathering the supplies she needed for dinner. When she turned back to the counter she saw him frowning. “What’s wrong?”

“Let me cook,” he rolled up his sleeves. “You ice your ankles.”

“What?” she glanced to her feet with a laugh. She knew they were swollen, a bit sore, from today, but it was odd for him to notice. “How do you know that?” 

“I know your body quite well, Sansa, I have been watching you dance for five years” he explained. “Besides, I have lived with ballerinas. I know the routine” he took the knife from her hand. “And I know the diet.” 

“Alright” she relented, grabbing her cold packs from the freezer and sitting at the small kitchen table. Before she could do it, he grabbed the second chair and helped her to prop her feet up, laying the packs over her ankles. “Thank you” she smiled. 

“Of course” he adjusted the ice. “Is this why you were off today? You’re in pain?”

“Yes” she felt her cheeks warm. “Sometimes, I will just wake up in pain, today was one of those days.” 

“I know I am not an easy man, but next time, tell me” he said softly. “I understand pain very well.”

“Alright” she replied. “I will.”

They made small talk and she watched as he cooked, occasionally directing him to supplies or dishes. She realized that Tywin’s tall frame made her kitchen look small. Though he had not dances for years, he was still inherently graceful, moving fluidly as he prepared their meal. 

It was an odd sort of intimacy, him cooking for her, and it made her smile. 

As he carried their plates to the table, he took the ice from her ankles and replaced them in the freezer, returning with glasses of water for them both. She stretched her toes, preparing to move them when he shook his head. 

“Tywin” she protested as he lifted her feet, sat and then placed them back on his thigh. 

“Elevated” he instructed. 

“Alright” she nodded, picking up her fork. 

“That is the first time you’ve called me by my name” he chuckled. “It only took you five years to feel comfortable enough to use it, eh?”

“I don’t think it is appropriate to call you something so informal at work” she explained. “In the theatre you should be shown respect.”

“And we aren’t in the theatre now” he finished for her. 

“Precisely” she agreed. “And it will be six years next month.”

“When did you know you wanted to dance?” Sansa asked him as they finished their dinner. 

“I don’t really know, I just decided one day that I was going to try it,” he replied. 

“Were your parents upset?” she continued. “It isn’t exactly what most men picture for their sons.” 

“My father was a drunk” Tywin told her, pausing to wipe his mouth and set his napkin aside. “A wastrell, ruin of a man. His opinion on any matter meant little to me. My mother was supportive, in her own way. I am fairly certain that before I married Joanna, my mother believed me to be gay.” 

Sansa nodded, “I am sorry about your father and…”

He nodded, “Thank you. My past has certainly defined me but it does not control me now.”

“That is good” Sansa nodded. 

“And you? When did you know?”

“I always knew” Sansa smiled, her bright eyes glittering with happiness. “I never wavered in my determination.”

“And your parents? They seem supportive” he prompted, remembering the occasions he had met the Starks. 

“They are” she replied. “They are all very blue collar. The only time they wear suits is to come to see me dance. They certainly don’t understand it, but they support me regardless. Ballet was an expense they could hardly afford, but they made it work” she paused, a smile on her face. “When I was fourteen, you and Joanna danced in ‘Swan Lake’ in the city and I wanted nothing so much as I did the poster of you two in the forest. My father hunted high and low to find one, just to make my Christmas perfect. They did all they could and now that I make a considerable wage, I can repay them, help them to ensure the family farms stay open.” 

A new wave of respect hit him as she spoke. She was dedicated to her family, even though she was not a part of their business or day to day. He knew she was from a very small, rural town and her family were farmers, but he didn’t realize that she helped them so much. 

This new light that shone on her was not making it easy to resist her. Of course, the slight wave of her long hair, that had been damp when he arrived, and the baggy sweater that hinted at the nightgown below, was also not helping. 

On stage she was in her element, beautiful and confident. Here, in her home with her hair down and the tights cast aside, she was enchanting. Though she looked impossibly young, her natural beauty made it hard to take his eyes from her. 

They talked as old friends, on everything and nothing, the conversation moving easily and naturally. Most nights he returned to an empty penthouse and ate alone before working on any paperwork that was needed for the company. But this, sharing a meal with her, was something he much preferred. 

He felt her foot flex atop his thigh and he looked down to see her stretching the arch of her left foot, an action he knew well. 

“Cramp?” he asked and she nodded with a grimace. He reached for her foot and then paused, “May I?”

She nodded, “Thank you.” 

He took hold of her left foot in his hands, rubbing firmly but not painfully against the arch and ball of her foot. She sighed softly as he worked her battered feet. While ballerina’s were known for their grace and beauty, their feet were far from either. Being on pointe meant their feet took horrible abuse, the price they paid for their craft. 

“You are very good at that,” she smiled as he moved to the right foot. “I should like to hire you.”

“You can’t afford me” he smirked and she laughed, shaking her head. 

“No, likely not.”

“Better?” he asked after several moments and several alternations of foot. 

“Much, thank you” she replied, removing her feet from his lap. “I will help with the dishes, it's only fair.”

“Alright” he agreed, both of them standing and carrying their plates to the sink. They worked in companionable silence, he had cooked the salmon in foil so cleanup was easy and loading the dishwasher took no time at all. 

As she placed the water pitcher back into the fridge, he tried to sneak behind her to grab the cooking sheet but her kitchen was small and the action had her turning and running directly into his chest. 

“Oh,” she whispered as he took her waist to steady her. She looked up at him, the blue of her eyes dark and in them he glimpsed something he never thought to see there. Desire. When the tip of her tongue swept across her lower lip, a barely visible action, it told him everything he needed to know.

He may be older but he was certainly not dead; Sansa Stark wanted him. 

Her hands flattened against his chest, the warmth of her palms seeping through his sweater, “Sansa” he whispered. It wasn’t just her name in that single word. It was a question, a very important question. 

“Yes” she said in kind.

And with that single word, his control was broken. 

They were kissing before he realized either of them had moved, her soft lips parting beneath his own and allowing his tongue to dance with hers. She whimpered softly, her hands moving up his chest to cling to his shoulders as he guided her back against the wall near the refrigerator. 

Kissing her was unlike anything he had experienced, electric and passionate. The fire in her heart when she danced had grown and now consumed them both. He pressed her body to the wall with his own, feeling the slender length of her against his body and groaning into their kiss. 

It spurred her on and she rocked her hips against his. He lifted her, in response, no delicate ballet lift but the firm grab of a lover, filling his hands with the curve of her ass and raising her so that her legs could wrap around him. 

With her high against his body, she had a better angle and took charge, kissing him deeply as her fingers trailed into his once-blonde hair. He thrust against her a few times, his hands sliding beneath her nightgown to find she wore no panties. The thought of having eaten dinner beside her while she was all but naked drove him wild. 

Turning from the wall he carried her through the kitchen and towards the bedroom she had vanished in to earlier. She did not seem to notice they were moving until he lowered her to the bed. Her room, like the rest of the apartment, was neat and tidy, mostly white in decor with neutral accents and the occasional soft pink. It was feminine, girly, like her. 

He pulled her sweater away, tossing it to the chair in the corner, to admire the sight of her in the blush colored silk nightgown. 

“Beautiful” he ran a hand over the fabric and across the imprint of a nipple, earning a soft gasp from her lips. 

“Tywin” she whispered. 

“Hmm?” he paused where he was running his hand over her. She tugged at his sweater and he understood her meaning. Smiling he pulled back and removed his sweater and undershirt, tossing them with her own on the chair. His body still held its lean muscle of his younger years, and he was grateful for that as he watched Sansa’s eyes darken as they raked over him. 

Lowering himself over her, he kissed her once more, this time as her hands wandered the bare skin of his chest and back. Without moving away he rid himself of his shoes and slacks, shifted her to the center of the bed and crawled on with her.

She felt wonderful underneath him, her body fitting into his perfectly. Her legs wrapped around him and he was reminded that she wore no panties, so with a sly grin against her lips he trailed a hand between their bodies and found her core. 

She cried out, breaking their kiss as he teased her drenched body, circling her clit with the pad of his thumb. Her porcelain skin was flushed from her cheeks all the way down her neck and chest where it vanished into the silk, she looked like a goddess spread out against the blankets. 

He watched her fall apart, her pants and cries filling the room as pleasure worked through her and crested, her body pulsing against his hand. 

“Tywin” she cried out and then sighed, hands clinging to his biceps as she came down. 

As he raised his hand he caught the hem of her nightgown, pulling it up and over her head, finally able to admire her in all her glory. 

The flush, he could now see, went to her beasts, trailing off over her ribs. Though she was slender, her small breasts were beautiful, the rosy jeweled tips begging for his mouth. He did not make them beg for long, bending down he captured one in his lips, suckling deeply. She was panting and writhing beneath him as he worked her flesh into a frenzy. 

When she was begging for him, he was a man possessed, shoving his boxers away and aligning himself with her body. Her fiery curls were soaked as he trailed the head of his cock over her, then dipped into her. Finally, this woman who had occupied his brain for six years would be his, and after this he was never letting her go.

With a smooth movement, he slid inside of her, but froze the instant he came up against something he had not expected. His eyes shot to hers, “Sansa…?”

She nodded, “Please, Tywin” she held to the back of his neck and with a deep breath, he sank through the barrier of her virginity and into the tight, heated depths of her. 

She whimpered at the sharp bite of pain, but held tightly to him until he was buried fully inside of her. She wiggled a little, attempting to quell the feeling of fullness but it didn’t help, she felt filled to bursting as her body stretched to accommodate his. 

He held still, holding himself over her on his elbows, a soft groan of satisfaction the only sound he made. She hadn’t told him, before, because she didn't want him to stop. She wanted him, just as she had for years, she wanted him to take her, to be her first. 

Kissing him was a dream, the strength of his arms surrounding her as he made love to her mouth made her glad she had waited her whole life for him. This infuriating, brilliant man who challenged her, pushed her and supported her every day, had made her fall in love with him and now, at last, they were together.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly, kissing his way across her jaw. 

“Yes” she smiled as he gently nipped at her. His hips rocked, moving carefully within her and she gasped at the foreign sensation. She could feel the long, thick length of him as he moved, taking her slowly, gently. 

Her hands wandered his back, marvelling at the play of muscles as he moved. He had a strong, powerful body, honed by years on the stage and she loved the way he felt against her. Soon the ache faded into pleasure and she was gasping as his hips snapped against hers, a spike of pleasure jolting through her each time he filled her. 

“Sansa” he growled, leaning down to kiss her. She smiled into the kiss, knowing that the Great Lion was losing control, that she had driven this man to such lust that he could do nothing but thrust into her, chasing his release. 

She felt her body climbing once more, but before she could reach it, he roughly grabbed her ass, holding her tightly as he slammed into her as deep as he could. He growled against her mouth, the sound nearly feral, and then his body was trembling, pulsing as he came within her. 

Their lips parted and they were both panting for breath. She smiled up at him, cupping his bearded cheek, “My Tywin.” 

“That’s fortunate, I won’t have to talk you into being mine” he smirked. “Because you _are_ mine. There is no going back, I won’t go back.” 

“Then we go forward together,” she smiled, feeling her heart race. “I’ve been in love with you for years, Tywin Lannister, there is not much you couldn’t talk me into.” 

His eyes widened with surprise as he smiled, “Have you now?” 

“Yes” she softly kissed him. 

“Good” he moved beside her, pulling her with him so she could snuggle to his side. “Unrequited feelings are terrible things.”

She looked up to see him smiling at her, “Yeah?”

“Yes” he kissed her forehead as she settled against him. With her ear to his chest, she could listen to the strength of his heart beat, feel the heat of his body, both reminding her that he was _hers_ now. She smiled, drifting off to sleep in his arms. 

“Renly” Tywin’s voice was deceptively calm as he glared at the principle danseur. “Have you completely forgotten how to lift? Forgotten that this is the bloody bedroom pas de deux in _Romeo and Juliet_?” 

“No, Director Lannister” Renly replied. 

“Then act like it” Tywin instructed him. “You’re supposed to be passionately in love, but you look as if you’re holding a snake” he sighed. “We’re all tired, I understand. It’s late. We will pause here today and pick up in the same place--_with_ passion--tomorrow.”

The dancers made their way backstage, to change from their costumes and grab their belongings to head home for the evening. The orchestra began to pack up as well. They were in final rehearsals now and the curtain would open next week, a very stressful time for the entire company. It was fortunate for him that he could escape it in the evenings after rehearsals were over, losing himself in Sansa. 

Tywin turned to smile at the woman who still constantly occupied his thoughts, who made her way to him and briefly kissed him. While they weren’t hiding the change in their relationship, neither were they flaunting it in front of the other company members. They had been together for nearly four months now and each day was better than the one previous. 

Sansa wore a dress of dusty pink, the bodice tight and criss-crossed with ribbons, but with a flowing skirt to highlight her movement. She pulled her hair from its ponytail, shaking the rich length loose in preparation to leave, but as she crossed in front of him, impulse had him grabbing her hand. 

“Dance with me” he asked her. 

She smiled, “O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name, Or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet” she moved into his arms. 

“No longer be a Stark” he whispered. “What a good idea.” 

“My Tywin” she smiled, used to his talk of forever by now. He had meant it, that first night, there was no going back to life without her. He meant to keep her. 

“Sam, if you would, just once more” Tywin looked to the pianist as he shrugged out of his suit jacket, leaving him in a black dress shirt and slacks. Sam gave a nod and retook his seat, starting at the beginning of the scene. 

It had been a very long time since he had danced, but partnering with Sansa was easier that breathing, their bodies already in tune with each other. Fluidly they moved through the steps, the dance about a couple’s first night together effortless for two people in love.

As Sansa leaned over his hand in a back arch, he trailed a hand down her throat and between her breasts, a small piece of artistic license much like when he held her in a three level turn, their opposite hips together, he leaned forward and kissed her. 

She laughed softly as they parted, her dress a twirl of fabric around her as she spun away only to be caught and lifted once more. 

When the song ended, her body was arched back over his arm feet and fingers touching the stage. He was leaned over her, drinking in the beauty of his woman when the applause reached his ears. 

Lifting his head he saw Cersei, along with several members of the company clapping, all of them having stopped to watch. His daughter smirked, knowing damn good and well that was more than dancing, and raised her phone, shaking it back and forth telling him she gotten it all recorded. 

Well, he looked back to Sansa who was blushing furiously in his arms. So much for laying low. 

“It has over a half-million views, Tywin” Sansa laughed, both of them enjoying their last day off before the show opened by sleeping in. Sansa had woken up feeling terrible so instead of venturing out they decided to stay in so she could rest. 

Cersei had the entire dance, starting when he shrugged out of his jacket. He hadn’t even noticed Cersei’s arrival, he'd been so focused on Sansa. She posted the video of them dancing on the theatre’s youtube channel, which already had quite a following, and it has since gone ‘viral’. The media in the dance and ballet world had gone crazy for the video, blowing up his phone and email in attempts to get an interview to match. 

It was a private dance, he told them, meant for Sansa and I. But still they persisted and he knew at the show’s opening they were going to be everywhere. At least, he smirked, it was good publicity for the show. 

Sansa had even gotten at text from her mother about the video, a compliment on how beautifully they danced together. 

“I am glad Cersei thought to take video” he kissed her forehead. “Seeing us dance together is a treat for my haggard director’s soul.” 

“Haggard, you’re not--” Sansa stopped abruptly, then tossed her phone onto the bed and streaked to the bathroom. 

“Sansa” he followed, the sound of her being sick speeding his step. 

“Don’t come in” she said weakly. 

“Oh hush” he grabbed her hair and pulled it away from face. He felt her forehead, but she didn’t have a fever that he could tell. “You don’t feel warm” he muttered.

“I’m alright” she assured him, then proceeded to wretch once more. 

Holding her hair with one hand, he turned to the counter, intending to grab a hair clip only to open the drawer and freeze, “Sansa…”

“Hmm?” she groaned from the floor and he turned back, crouching beside her. 

“You’re not on birth control” he stated. 

“No” she said softly. “Sometimes my period stops during long rehearsal months, I didn’t have one for years when I started at the Company and I haven’t had one in…”

“Months” he raised a brow, smirking at her. 

“No” she caught his meaning. “No, that can’t...no!”

“It can” he assured her, chuckling to himself. “I never stopped to think about it, neither of us did.” 

“Oh my god” she sighed, resting her forehead against his arm. “I’m pregnant, aren’t I?”

“I would be inclined to believe so, yes” he smiled. 

“Tywin” she whispered. “My Dad is going to kill you.”

“He will do not such thing” he scoffed. “Besides, I intended to marry you anyway, what difference does a baby make now or in a years time?” 

“I can finish the show” she told him. “Its only two shows a week for a month.”

“Sansa, if you’re ill---”

“I can do it, Tywin” she argued, her eyes meeting his. “Please don’t make me quit.”

“Tomorrow we’ll see a doctor, confirm things and then if they’re alright with your dancing, you can do the show” he smoothed her hair from her face and kissed her forehead. 

“We’re going to have a baby” she choked on a sudden sob. “Oh my God!”

He pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly. He should be terrified. Feel silly for not even thinking about birth control. He should probably feel guilty for her having to put her career on hold in her prime because she was pregnant. But he didn’t. Not a single bit. 

He was overjoyed, the idea of having a child with Sansa was enough to bring tears to his eyes. Having a baby wasn’t the end of the world and, once their child arrived, Sansa could return to the stage. After the brief off-season, when production began, Sansa would be too heavily pregnant to dance. Perhaps Cersei would be willing to come and dance the lead in the next feature, ‘The Nutcracker’. He would talk with her once everything was confirmed. 

Idly, he wondered if it would be a girl, a tiny Sansa with golden curls that loved to dance, as her parents did. He sincerely hoped that was the case. Holding Sansa close he buried his face in her hair, both of them celebrating their unexpected moment. 

“After a bit of traffic, your parents have made it” Tywin’s voice broke into her musings as she stared into the mirror of her dressing room. “I just escorted them to their seats and through the media madness.”

“Thank you” she smiled, meeting his lips in a brief kiss, as not to smudge her makeup. “I am sure they’re overwhelmed.”

He looked so dashing in his tuxedo, his traditional outfit for opening night, one that she had always admired. Now she was able to look and touch in admiration. 

“Nervous?” he asked with a smile, wrapping his arms around her from behind. As was his new habit, his hands came to rest over her lower stomach, as if trying to feel the life growing there. He did it so often she was certain that he was going to give away their secret. 

“Not at all” she smiled at him in the mirror, covering his hands with her own. 

They had gone to the doctor together yesterday, confirming that she was pregnant, nearly 8 weeks along already. Sansa had been overwhelmed, hardly able to believe that not only had they been so careless, but that she hadn’t known her own body enough to realize it. Once again Tywin had proven he knew her body better than she did. 

They talked with Cersei this morning and she had agreed to come back as a special guest to the company for ‘The Nutcracker’, covering the vacancy that Sansa would leave for the few months she would be unable to dance. 

Cersei hadn’t been surprised at their news, having watched them dance, realizing that her father was in quite deep with Sansa. Her parents, however, were not going to take the news lightly. 

She found that she didn’t care, however, she was so excited. A baby, a tiny little miracle that she secretly hoped was a girl. A little girl with golden ringlets and Tywin’s eyes. She could buy so many adorable tutus and--

“You’re daydreaming again” Tywin kissed her bare shoulder.

“I was” she blushed. 

“Thinking about my baby?” he smirked. 

“Our baby” she corrected with a smile. “And yes.”

“I’d like a girl, if you please,” he said. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” she felt her eyes well up and did her best to quell the tears before they ruined her makeup. The lights flickered and she took a deep breath. “Show time.” 

“I guess I’ll go give my bloody speech” he squeezed her gently, then released her. “Break a leg.” 

“I love you” she smiled. 

“I love you, now go knock em dead.” 

Arya hated the ballet. She hated the classical music, the gaudy costumes, the snotty people. Hated it.

But, Arya loved her sister. So, like clockwork, every opening night she trekked south with her parents to see Sansa perform. 

For as long as she could remember, Sansa had been obsessed with ballet. Everything had to be pink and frilly and more girly that Arya could stomach. She didn’t know the first thing about ballet, but apparently Sansa was good enough to become the youngest prima ballerina at the Royal Ballet Company, the largest company in the country. Her parents were absurdly proud of Sansa, and somehow dancing was enough for Sansa to help the family when needed. Which was often these days.

When they arrived at the theatre, they were all surprised to find security waiting for them, taking them directly to Director Lannister, the imposing, cold man that Sansa worked for. Or--as of late, was dating. 

Arya had been shocked to see the video of them on youtube, obviously in love with each other as they moved on the stage. She hadn’t thought Sansa capable of loving anything besides ballet, and she didn’t think Lannister had a heart at all. He just seemed so haughty. 

Director Lannister met with them, and escorted them personally to their seats in the front row, ignoring media and benefactors alike. 

As they moved to sit, Director Lannister asked to speak with their father, and Arya looked to her mother with a knowing look. They moved to a private corner near the stage and spoke for several minutes, shaking hands when they were through. 

Director Lannister ducked backstage and her father took his chair between her and her mother. 

“He’s going to propose to Sansa” her father whispered softly. “He’s asked for my blessing.”

“Oh, our baby is getting married” her mother immediately grew weepy, as she always did at these functions. 

“He’s so old” Arya made a face, earning her a glare from her parents. 

“They’re in love Arya” her father told her. “I won’t stand in the way of that, if they’re truly happy.” 

“At least my boyfriend is my age” she smirked, thinking of Gendry who worked with them on the farm back home.

Before they could continue, the house lights dimmed and everyone moved quickly to their seats. Glancing around, Arya could see it was sold out, packed to the gills as usual. No wonder Sansa was rich, she nodded. Who knew there was good money in ballet. 

The show began and she watched with an impassive gaze, surprised when the women--and some men, began crying around her. She would admit that Sansa looked beautiful, moving like water across the stage, but she still couldn’t shake the image of Director Lannister in tights from her mind’s eye. 

When the final curtain came, everyone around her leapt to their feet, applauding wildly as the cast came out in chunks for their bows. Her mother whimpered, wiping her eyes as Sansa, last to appear, bowed beautifully as the applause grew louder. 

Movement to the right caught her eye and she saw Director Lannister come on stage. He took Sansa’s hand, raising it to kiss the back and she saw her sister smile in a way she had never seen before. 

So that’s what Sansa looks like in love, Arya noted. 

The audience took a second to catch on, but when Tywin sank to a knee in front of her, they went ballistic as she nodded, crying now as he slipped a ring onto her finger. When he stood, he kissed her hand once more before looping it over his arm. With one last bow, he escorted Sansa from the stage. 

“Well” her father gave a surprisingly watery smile. “Looks like we’re getting another son.” 

Sansa changed out of her costume and removed most of her makeup, pausing every few minutes to look at the ring on her left hand. Tywin had proposed! She gave a watery laugh, right there in front of the press and everyone, he got down on one knee and asked her to be his forever. She couldn’t say ‘yes’ fast enough. 

The ring was beautiful, a simple gold with a cushion-cut diamond surrounded by a halo of small diamonds. Her engagement ring! She smiled brightly, pulling on her black dress, knowing that they would have a nice dinner with her family tonight. Usually it was just her that joined her family, but tonight Tywin would be with her. 

“Wife-to-be” Tywin appeared as she slipped into her flat black shoes. 

“I am, aren’t I?” she smiled. 

“You are” he nodded. “I found some people who’d like to see you,” he smiled and her family spilled in behind him. 

“Oh honey” her mother rushed forward to hug her. “You were beautiful, brilliant as always.” 

“Thank you, Mom” she hugged her tightly. 

“Lemon Cake” her dad kissed her forehead. “Congratulations.” 

“Thank you” Sansa smiled, turning to her sister. “Thank you for coming” she hugged her sister, knowing that Arya was likely bored out of her mind. 

“You were good, I guess” Arya smirked. 

“Thanks” Sansa laughed. 

“Shall we go to dinner then?” her father asked, looking to Tywin. 

“Yes” Sansa agreed, taking Tywin’s hand in hers. “To celebrate.” 

“Yes!” her mother smiled. 

Instead of cramming into a cab, they walked across the street to the Italian restaurant. When Tywin walked in, the hostess immediately snapped to life, ensuring that the theatre director had everything he needed, including a table for his party and the prima ballerina. 

“Good to be famous, huh?” Arya chuckled. 

“I guess” Sansa replied with a smile. They were only stopped a handful of times on their way to the table, theatre patrons wishing them congratulations or telling Sansa how wonderful she was. She could only blush and thank them, overwhelmed by their compliments. 

They settled into a table in the back, the waiters immediately bringing them menus and water. A moment later a bottle of wine arrived, compliments of the house; Arya heartily approved. 

“Sansa” her father extended her a glass and she bit her lower lip. 

“I can’t” she took Tywin’s hand under the table. 

Arya laughed, a light, slightly sinister laugh as she lifted her wine glass, “You’re so pregnant.”

Her mother gasped, “What?”

“I am” Sansa nodded. “Eight weeks, thereabouts.” 

“Oh! A baby!” her mother gasped, tears welling in her eyes as her father glared at Tywin. 

“Mr. Stark” Tywin address the glare directly. “We only found out yesterday, I had already purchased the ring.” 

Sansa looked to Tywin, “You had?” 

“Of course, do you take me for a stupid man?” he raised their hands to kiss her knuckles. “Nothing about my proposal plans changed because of the baby.”

“I’m not mad, I’m impressed” Arya smirked. “How old are you again?”

“Arya--” Sansa gasped. 

“So this it what it will be like then? Having an obnoxious little sister?” Tywin said dryly. 

“Oh, absolutely” Arya nodded. “Cheers, pops!”

“I love you” Sansa whispered across the pillow as she climbed into bed beside Tywin. His apartment was huge, dwarfing hers, and she had all but moved in with him already. She loved the nice view and large kitchen, but his king-sized bed was her favorite. There was so much room to stretch out, to make love. 

They had a lovely dinner with her parents, Arya’s snarky comments aside (fortunately Tywin found her amusing), and the moment they were home she had headed for a hot shower. Tywin had joined her and helped her to scrub away the stage makeup that had her feeling dingy. 

He had all but carried her to the bed, her ankles completely swollen after tonight’s show, and so they crawled in sans-clothing, collapsing to the sheets. 

“I love you” he smiled back at her. “Come here” he pulled her closer, pressing their bodies together as he kissed her.

She sighed, wrapping her arms and legs around him when he rolled her to her back. Her legs were dead, otherwise she would have him on his back already. They shared lazy, deep kisses that had goose pimples rushing across her skin and her heart about to beat out of her chest. 

His talented hand stroked and teased her until she was begging him to make love to her, and when he finally sank into her, she whimpered at the feeling of being connected to him once more. 

They made love slowly, their bodies lost to the ancient dance that had them both groaning and panting. She tilted her hips, grinding against him as he moved and when his hand found her sensitive nub, it didn’t take long for her to come around him, holding his body tightly within her. 

“Sansa” he groaned against her lips, hips faltering as he pushed deep and found his own pleasure, pulsing inside of her.

She kissed him briefly before he rolled to her side, holding her close. Exhaustion and pleasure thrummed through her, having her smiling a ridiculous smile against his bare skin as she placed a kiss over his heart. 

“After the show tomorrow, let’s run away” she rested her chin on his chest, looking up at him. 

“To where?” he ran a hand over her back. 

“Anywhere, just the two of us, to celebrate” she smiled. “We don’t have rehearsal until Tuesday, we can spend a night somewhere.”

“The coast isn’t too far” he suggested. “I would make love to you with the sound of the ocean all around us. Spend an afternoon in bed with my fiancee.” 

“Yes” she felt her cheeks warm. “I would like that very much.”

“I love you, Sansa” he said, his tone serious as he looked down at her. “I know I am not an easy man, Gods know I pushed you harder than I have anyone. But I did so because you’re brilliant, I could see that from the second I laid eyes on you.”

“I love you too” she replied. “You certainly did push me, but you made me better. I used to think you were so handsome and such a beautiful dancer, but when I got to know you, I saw your passion, your vision for the stage and it was awe-inspiring.” 

“Used to think I was handsome” he scoffed and she laughed. 

“You know I still think you’re handsome” she smiled. “Dancing with you, dancing for you is all I ever wanted. That day, my audition, I could have cried when you lifted me. It was...like coming home.”

“Now we can dance together whenever we like,” he said. “Unless you don’t think I am a beautiful dancer anymore either.” 

“Oh hush” she laughed, crawling up to kiss him. “Infuriating man.” 

“You wouldn’t have me any other way” he wrapped his arms around her. 

“No, I suppose I wouldn’t” she nestled into his side, as she did every night, and he kept her wrapped in his embrace, keeping her safe and happy as she slipped into slumber. 

“You, what is your name?” Tywin sighed in exasperation as he approached the chorus dancer, one of the newest additions to the company.

“Margaery, Director Lannister” the girl said nervously. 

“Move back over there” he pointed up stage left. “Now stay there until the count. Sansa” he turned to his wife and motioned her back to her position in front of Renly, making small adjustments to Olenna’s choreography. 

“Arabesque or shoulder sit, Director Lannister?” Sansa asked him.

“Arabesque” he nodded. “Alright, again, from the top, 5,6 7, 8” he instructed. He watched from the front of the stage as they all moved in fluid sync, the chorus dancers rotating around where Renly lifted Sansa in center stage. This year they were performing ‘Swan Lake’ and it was glorious to see Sansa in the role of Odette. “Yes, better!” he nodded, aware of the bundle against his chest as he spoke. “Alright, now you’re dismissed for lunch. One hour, be back and stretched, ready to go” he said and the dancers dispersed. 

Glancing down, he could easily see that Grace Rose was still asleep, passed out against his soft sweater, tiny fingers clutching the fabric. Grace, or Gracie as they called her, was much fussier than her older sister, Clara Jo. Gracie generally refused to nap unless she was in his arms, which meant that he was now barking orders at dancers while he held his four-month old daughter. Sansa attributed her fussy nature to her fiery red hair, claiming that she had inherited her temper. Tywin did not mind, he enjoyed being a father and his girls were beautiful. Just like their mother. 

Clara, on the other hand, was his wild dancer. As soon as the dancers began moving from the stage, Clara was streaking by him from her spot in the front row, running up the steps to greet her mother. Now just over 2 years old, Clara was her mother’s shadow. Clad in her own pink tutu, blonde ringlets bouncing, she joined Sansa on stage. 

He watched with a smile as Sansa smiled at their daughter’s enthusiasm, lifting her to kiss her cheek before setting her down in her tiny slippers, showing her a few simple steps that soon had them dancing together. Carefully he raised his phone and snapped a few photos of his wife and daughter. It was moments like this that were his favorite, quiet, personal and filled with love. 

“Perfect!” Sansa laughed as Clara twirled around, her hands flailing above her head with exuberance. 

They had married quietly, away from prying eyes, when Clara was three months old, their daughter bouncing happily in Jaime’s arms as they spoke their vows. Sansa had looked stunning in an ivory gown designed to look straight out of the 1920’s, and made by the theatre’s costume department as their gift to her. She wore her hair down, in soft curls, with a jeweled headband covered with rhinestones. She was, as he always thought, beautiful beyond compare. 

Rather than honeymoon somewhere fancy, they drove with Clara to the beach where they'd celebrated their engagement, spending a week enjoying much needed relaxation. It was in that small beach town that they happened upon an antique store that, when they wandered inside, had a large poster of Sansa on the wall. It was framed rather nicely, a promotional piece from her first performance as prima ballerina in the Royal Ballet all those years ago. 

Tywin had smiled like a loon as the clerk took it down off the wall, staring at Sansa with wide eyes and then back to the poster. Sansa thought him silly, but he bought it, taking it home to hang in their living room. 

_ “Sign it?” Tywin asked her and she rolled her eyes._

_ “Ty--” she laughed. _

_ “Sign it, then I will hang it up” he handed her a black permanent marker. She made a face, but quickly signed it, stepping back so he could replace the glass and latch the frame. “Perfect.” _

_ “You're ridiculous” she kissed his cheek._

_ “That’s my wife” he motioned to the poster. “Sansa Lannister.” _

_ “It says there, ‘Sansa Stark',” she smirked. _

_ “Yes, well that has since been corrected” he wrapped an arm around her waist._

The poster now hung on the wall beside the one Sansa had brought from her parents' house, the one of him and Joanna from ‘Swan Lake’. It might be odd, for others to see it displayed so prominently, but he knew Joanna had been a huge influence in Sansa’s life and career. In a way, it had brought Sansa to him, one of those unique degrees of separation that connect people around the world.

While Clara had been unplanned (but not unwelcome), Gracie had been planned, both of them doing their best to get the timing right so that Sansa could finish their performance of “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” before taking another short leave. They hadn’t gotten it perfect, and some of Sansa’s costumes had to be altered to hide her pregnancy, but in the end they had another beautiful daughter. The pregnancies had been hard on Sansa, but she was strong, resilient and a fantastic mother. 

The door to the side opened and Tywin smiled as Jaime appeared, one hand in his pocket as if he hadn’t a care in the world. In his other hand was a large bag, the lunch he had said he was going to bring by when he visited. 

“Jay!” Clara exclaimed when she saw her big brother. 

“Clara-bear!” Jaime caught her as she ran from the stage and launched herself into his arms. “You hungry? Dancing hard all day?” he asked and Clara nodded.

“Lunch! You are the best!” Sansa descended the stage, greeting Jaime with a hug before she came to check on Gracie. 

“She’s out cold” Tywin smiled, kissing his wife. 

“Good, I am starving” Sansa said. “I will feed her after we eat, she will probably be awake then.” 

“I will not dare to keep you from your food,” he teased her. Between dancing and keeping Gracie fed, Sansa’s body was burning through calories at an absurd rate. He had even woken in the middle of the night, several nights ago, to find Sansa gone. He found her in the kitchen at the table, Gracie in her lap nursing happily as Sansa ate from a bowl of yogurt filled with fruit. _ I’m starving _ she had laughed, talking over a mouth full of banana. 

Looking back, Jaime was holding Clara’s hand as she spun around, ‘dancing’ with her brother Jay. She hadn’t quite added on the ‘me’ yet. 

They ate at the director’s table, Clara insisting on sitting between Jaime and Sansa, her tutu so puffy it nearly kept her from the table. It took some careful adjusting on Sansa’s part to situated her properly. Tywin smiled at his family, unique though they may be, they were happy and loved each other deeply. 

It was hard to think back to all those years that he stayed silent, aloof from Sansa, unwilling to betray what he felt for her. All the while she was doing the same about him. They had lost several years to their respective fears, but because of their tight knit bond, their love was all the deeper for it. 

When Sansa had walked into his life, he was a man alone, cold and guarded. But from the moment she took the stage in her audition, he was drawn to her, like a moth to flame he was unable to resist her. She brought passion back into his life, and together they found a love stronger than they ever imagined. 

As if sensing his gaze, Sansa looked over at him as she ate her salad, smiling brightly. 

_I love you_ he mouthed the words. 

She blew him a kiss, _Love you too_.

**Author's Note:**

> The Romeo & Juliet Pas de Deux - [HERE](https://youtu.be/5fdE4nYibJk/)
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr for pic sets and more shenanigans!  
@the-red-wulf or https://the-red-wulf.tumblr.com/


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